Of Umbral Shine
by Aleyerrad
Summary: AU. In a post-apocalyptic earth overrun with ghosts, Danny and Jazz Fenton struggle to live a normal life. But Fate has much more in store for them than just the simplicities of living.
1. Omen

**Of Umbral Shine**

**Summary: **

AU. In a post-apocalyptic earth overrun with ghosts, Danny and Jazz Fenton struggle to lead a normal life. But Fate has much more in store for them than just the simplicities of living.

**A/N: **

I'll admit now that it's been some time since I've watched Danny Phantom, and I don't have access to the episodes. So even though this is an AU, there may be a couple of mistakes here and there, though some are intentional. Feel free to point them out. This was inspired by Chrome Shelled Regios, at least setting wise, though it's not very important to know about that anime/light novel. The details will be explained along the way. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Danny Phantom

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><p><strong>[Prologue]<strong>

**Omen**

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><p>Green. The world was a swirling vortex of green, thousands of shades varying from light to dark, dark to even darker, blending in a flawless masterpiece that spiraled into the far reaches. Goo-like substance spewed from the middle of nowhere, rising up and then vanishing with a 'pop'. Platforms hung in the midst of space, imprinted with memories of the living.<p>

There were the doors, so many of them, spread out across the infinite space, some near, some far, but all of the same composition, dark violet giving them shape and form. These gateways, portals to other times and dimensions, floated with no apparent force between to hold them apart or draw them closer. And one of these doors opened, allowing a skeletal ghost to enter from the backdrop of what was an entire city wreathed in a dome of green, set against a desert plain.

The ghost, dressed in armor befitting of a lowly soldier, rushed off in a single direction, passing islands of inversed crags, ignoring the fearful caw of the crows, nestled together in the branches of a long dead tree.

Moving progressively deeper into the darkness, a crimson red keep, with twisted towers and tapering points, appeared along the skyline, welcoming him with iron-fanged gates. Lead along the surreal passageways that littered the citadel, the messenger was brought to the door where within his lord would await his report.

Sitting on the throne of his palace, the general towered over his servants in the court, a disdainful glare aimed at the heavy oak as it creaked open, the ghost shuffling in nervously.

"M-My lord," he whispered fearfully, bowing so low that his helmet scraped against the floor. "I bear word from the realm of the living…"

"Go on."

"O-Our scouts have finally located him, as you requested."

His green eye lit up in interest.

"Where is he now?"

"He is being imprisoned within one of the humans' contraptions situated within the cities, my lord," the ghost answered faithfully, never once lifting his eyes from the ground. "I-It has a very unyielding barrier that we are unable to destroy. We have exhausted all means, yet our efforts remain futile."

The messenger then winced. Failure was not an option for them; their liege did not take kindly to failure. If the lord was in a foul mood today, no doubt that he would be obliterated on the spot for igniting his fury.

The blast never came. Instead, there was an intense chuckling that spoke very much of intrigue

"Excellent," the general purred, his fanged mouth curling up into a vicious grin. "I was in need of a little… exercise."

His one good eye flared emerald, burning brighter than before.

"We strike at sundown," he announced, and those around him made obeisance. "Those pathetic insects… they will soon learn the consequences of messing with our kind."

Cackling darkly, every ghost present, every minion, all of them trembled as the ghastly sound echoed off the walls of the dark chamber. Their lord's wrath was terrifying, even if he was hiding that wrath behind the pretense of laughter. It died down, just as the general turned his head slightly to the right.

"Ah, but first… I should teach our little eavesdropper the meaning of sequestration."

There was a sudden flash of red, and Jasmine Fenton jolted out of bed, panting heavily.

Pressing her hand against her face, cold sweat met her palms as she felt for every detail, every contour with utmost care. As if fearful of being disfigured, she reached for the compact mirror in the bedside table, seeing the reflection of tousled orange hair framing teal eyes and a heart shaped face. Relief flooded her features, only to be replaced by exasperation as she set aside the polished metal.

"Right…" she breathed, a hand across her chest to calm her pounding heart. "Right. Calm down. It was only a dream, Jazz. It was only a dream. It was _not_ real."

Setting herself back in bed, Jazz tried to get herself to fall asleep, forcing her eyes shut and curling her body beneath the comforter. But every time she closed her eyes, the same image would reappear: a wardrobe of dark armor, black, red, grays, and greens melding together to create the figure of the general, tall and imposing, his merciless gaze filled with nothing but the intent of conquest and destruction. Then there would be the flash of red, the same red as before, and her eyes would peel open by instinct.

Flipping listlessly for several more minutes, the girl finally gave up and tossed the blankets aside. The numbers of the digital clock beamed at her, and she scowled.

_3.13 a.m.… Great… I'm losing sleep over a dream…_

"I need to get a drink," she sighed. Pushing off the mattress, she dragged her lethargic body across the room and headed for the nearest vending machine.

~A~

The smell of coffee wafted up to her nose, its aroma rich with the enticing scent of caffeine as she moved to take a seat in the canteen, alit by only the dull glow of the vending machine lights. Collapsing into one of the many empty benches, she blew absently on the surface of the dark drink, observing the ripples as they travelled. Taking experimental sips, Jazz allowed the bitterness of the brew to bring her into wakefulness. So entranced was she by the steaming beverage that she did not notice when the shadows shifted, the tiniest of sounds echoing in the still-dark corridors.

"Jazz?"

Looking up, the teen watched as her younger brother slunk out of the darkness. His black hair was messy, his blue eyes betraying fatigue. She noted silently that he was already garbed in his outdoor wear: his favourite white shirt, blue jeans and red sneakers, which meant that he had probably been up for quite some time already.

Or he might not have gotten even a wink of sleep in the first place, if that haunted look of his was anything to go by. He slumped down into the seat directly opposite of her, groaning as he let rest his head on the table.

She was treading on thin ice by doing this, but… "Danny? Why are you up at this hour?"

Her younger brother frowned.

"I could ask you the same thing, you know."

Icy blue met calm teal as the siblings glared defiantly at each other, neither showing signs of weakness. This continued for several minutes, until Danny broke eye contact with an irritated exhale and closed his eyes tiredly.

"Fine, you win. I had a nightmare, alright?"

Jazz inhaled sharply.

"The usual?"

"The usual," he confirmed. "It wasn't as bad as the previous time, though. At least I didn't wake up the entire hostel. Tucker woke me up before that happened." He cast a glance at the clock. "He's probably back to bed by now. Lucky guy."

She nodded in understanding, letting her eyes drift downwards to the cup. Seven years. It had been seven years since that incident, and her brother still hadn't gotten over it. She didn't blame him. She hadn't gotten over it either. That was the reason why she occupied herself so much with work. If she didn't have enough time to sleep, then logically, she wouldn't have enough time to dream either.

"So how much longer is this going to last anyway?"

"Until tomorrow, noon."

"Darn… why does this stupid trip have to take up forty percent of our overall grades?" Danny complained. "I wouldn't have come otherwise."

"And that's exactly the reason why it's worth forty percent of your grades, little brother. They _want_ you to come."

The two siblings lapsed into silence, what has to be said already said. There was not much that they could exchange with words without bringing up the forbidden topic. Since that incident, there had been a mutual agreement between them to never speak of it. Following this line of thought, Danny perked up abruptly, his intense gaze landing on his sister. She shuffled nervously in her seat, startled by the sudden attention.

"Hey Jazz, you still haven't told me why you're here."

"Couldn't sleep. Isn't that obvious?"

"Why? Aside from having too much caffeine in your system, I mean," inclining his head to the side, Danny stared curiously at his sister. "You don't suffer from the same nightmares as I do, do you?"

"No, I don't," she admitted quietly. "But that doesn't mean that my dreams are necessarily peaceful. I do get nightmares, just… not the ones you have."

Danny chuckled. "Like the one where you got chased by a giant watermelon off a checkerboard?"

Jazz flushed the brightest red. "O-Of course not!" she spluttered, turning away as embarrassment heated up her cheeks. "That was such a long time ago!"

"Then what was it?"

The sixteen year old winced at the memory of the red flash, her grip on the paper cup tightening involuntarily. The conversation between the ghost general and its soldier was probably some garbage generated by her muddled mind thanks to all the ghost stuff that had been crammed into their brain for the past three days.

And being blasted by the attack? Only a fear that had found its way into her dream. Dreams were, after all, the involuntary occurrences of emotions, images, and ideas in the mind. She should know better.

"Jazz?"

No. Better not to tell Danny about that. He was such a worrywart sometimes.

"It's nothing; just a stupid dream about being blasted in the face by a one-eyed ghost."

She thought she saw his eyes darken significantly, but when she blinked, Danny looked more than amused. He chuckled.

"Did he have a one-eyed parrot too?"

Jazz grinned.

"Nope, but I bet he's got a teddy bear."

"Like Bearbert?"

Laughter overcame them, and soon the two were chortling heartily, though they consciously kept their volume down so as to avoid waking up the light sleepers amongst the student populace. Finally, the fourteen year old stopped, breathing in deeply to regain his breath. His gaze turned stony as he glanced in the direction of the breaking dawn, disgust bubbling within at the thought of what they were about to learn in a few hours' time.

"… I hate ghosts…"

"Yeah," Jazz smiled sadly. "I hate them too."


	2. Stepping Beyond the Line

**A/N:** Thanks to everyone who reviewed, favourited, or alerted to this fiction. Here's chapter one, and things are only just beginning. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Danny Phantom

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><p><strong>[1]<strong>

**Stepping Beyond the Line**

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><p>"Welcome to today's exhibit kids!" their guide, an overly enthusiastic man by the name of Bart Emery, shouted jovially. "We've finally reached the most interesting part of this short four-and-a-half day tour of the world's most technologically advanced ghost hunting society!"<p>

"Why doesn't he say Neo Wisconsin?" Tucker whispered. Danny just shrugged.

"Today, we are finally going to see some of our very own ghost hunters in action!" Cue a round of 'ooo's and 'ahh's as the Casper High crowd straightened, their blithe chatter alive with enthusiasm. "But first, we will be learning more about the equipment us ghost hunters use to combat ghosts!" The atmosphere dampened slightly.

As if anticipating this, Emery waggled a finger and 'tsk'ed. "Now, now, you won't be putting on those faces after you've seen what these little babies can do."

Of course, while Danny was less than excited for the ghost hunting part, he had frozen in shock the moment 'equipment' came out of the man's mouth. Tucker had to shake him out of his stupor before he was left behind.

They were lead into a huge, rectangular research facility in the centre of the city. Once inside, geeks and nerds stood in awe of the magnificent machinery planted before their very eyes. Piling high into the ceiling, the white and gray instruments beeped systematically, emitting a low, buzzing drone as they worked their magic. In some of the tubes arching from the floors below, ectoplasm pumped upwards at a steady rate, a propulsive force driving the green substance to the laboratories above.

"Excuse me, sir?" Mikey raised his hand. "What are those machines doing?"

"What indeed…" the guide smiled, amused at the boy's curiosity. "After ectoplasm is converted into energy in the factories, it fuels the entire city's electrical supply and most importantly, energy that is needed to power the anti-ghost barrier that surrounds every city and protects it from ghost invasions. The ectoplasmic waste that is produced from this is drawn back in where it is recycled here, generating clean, new ectoplasm for further use. Some of the ectoplasm sent here is also retrieved for further research to find out better ways of utilizing this energy source, and how to improve the efficiency of our anti-ghost weapons."

"Now follow me please, and don't touch anything!" Turning his back to the students, the guide moved in the direction of the nearest elevator, his calls echoing loudly. "It might just be the last thing you do."

Dash, the muscled blonde who had been directing Kwan's attention to one of the machines with the obvious intent to make mischief, immediately blanched and shuffled as far away from the machine as fast as they possibly could. Upon reaching the control panel beside the remarkably large elevator, the man keyed in a combination of digits and the door slid open.

Because their group was far too big, two separate trips had to be made. Danny rolled his eyes when most of Dash's clique ended up in the first group, though it was pretty much expected. The jock's gang had always been particularly enthralled by the idea of becoming ghost hunters. Of course, that only applied for the boys. The girls, like Paulina and Star, were probably more interested in modeling.

However, ghost hunting wasn't necessarily easy. While it was a job with a good pay, depending on the level of the ghost captured or exterminated, ghosts were, according to the guides, unknown but powerful entities. Seventy percent of the time, a novice would get too overconfident with his victories over the lesser ghosts and attempt to hunt the stronger ones, only to come back with defeat in his basket or even not at all. Fame and city-wide recognition followed those who succeeded, and professional ghost hunters had reputations that reached cities halfway across the globe.

Giving Mr. Lancer the instruction to lead the first group up to the seventh floor, Bart Emery stayed behind with the second half to reactivate the lift. Silently, Danny wondered why the security had to be so tight that even taking the lift was a chore.

"So, has any of you ever encountered a ghost?" he asked, hoping to bide some time while they waited.

"We saw lots of ghosts at the zoo two days ago," Lester piped helpfully, although his words withheld a bit of fear. "Although they were r-really big."

"Y-Yeah… those octopuses were twice as tall as I am…"

"Not to mention, they were flying. Can you imagine how you would look if that thing ate you?"

"And that cobra… did you see the size of that cobra?"

"I think the only normal thing in there was the wolf. And that's saying something."

Bart coughed loudly, pacifying the flood of comments.

"_Aside_ from the ghosts in the zoo, has anyone else met a ghost before?"

Most of the students shook their head. Some took a moment to dig into their memories, but the result was still the same.

"Nobody?" the man took a careful glance at each and every student. "You, over there."

Danny started in surprise. Looking around before pointing to himself, he asked, "U-uh, are you talking to me?"

"You've encountered a ghost before, have you not?"

There was a sharp intake of breath from the raven-haired teen. "How can you tell?"

"I'm a ghost hunter. I can tell if people have had encounters with ghosts or not by the look in their eyes," his eyes narrowed as he inspected the boy. "Your eyes tell me that you've seen one, and the ghost animals from two days ago were nothing compared to it."

Aware of the sudden attention on himself, Danny forced himself to smile despite the immense bitterness welling up inside him. Tucker was adamantly focused on the screen of his PDA, to which he was thankful for. At least his friend understood the subtlety of the topic.

"Let's just say I was lucky to get out alive." And that one sentence would end the conversation entirely.

Nothing more was said as they moved to join the other group on the seventh floor, where they were led down the corridor into a room easily the size of a football field. Once everyone was safely inside, a panel of bright blue glass separated the room from the door and travelled along the walls and floor. An arsenal of weapons lined neatly on the shelves along the walls, ranging from maces to swords to staffs to guns. There was even a small brown box patterned in fake gold nestled on the tabletop closest to the door.

"This room is but one of the many training rooms in this facility," Emery said, "It's not the smallest, but definitely not the largest either."

"_This_ is not the largest?" Tucker echoed, stupefied.

"The entire room is boxed in by an anti-blast shield, put in place so as to minimize the potential damage that would have been caused by our trainees when they're sparring. It also functions as an anti-ghost shield in cases of emergencies."

Weighing a long, stick-like weapon in his hands before giving it an experimental twirl, he turned around to face the students.

"This weapon here is a bō staff. Typically six feet in length, they are usually made of hard wood. Our bō staffs are additionally coated with an external layer of modified ectoplasm that interferes with a ghost's ecto-signature, allowing us to hit them even if they turn intangible. Doesn't look like it can do much to a ghost, doesn't it?" he asked, eyeing the school athletes from the corner of his eye. Several of them had looks of disbelief and disappointment on their pudgy faces.

He nodded, almost as if satisfied by the reaction. "Well, you'd be a fool to think that way. This staff is far from harmless. Bōjutsu is a form of Japanese martial art, and you don't want to be on the receiving end of one of these in the hands of a professional. I myself prefer this staff as my weapon of choice, but that's just me."

Setting aside the staff, Emery picked up a small gun with a large silver barrel, circuit lines littering its surface. "Moving on, we have the ecto-blasters our hunters traditionally use. These, as their name implies, fire off ectoplasm at whatever is your target. Of course, they come in a variety of shapes, designs, and sizes. We have the normal guns, like the one I'm holding now, and we have the bazookas, which aren't in this room." A couple of people deflated at that. To Danny's surprise, Mr. Lancer was among one of those.

"Of course, we handle the ecto-blasters as we would with their normal counterparts…" he tapped several buttons on the panel against the wall. There was a low hum as several targets rose from the panels in the centre of the room.

Taking aim at the one to the far left, Emery said, "Like this!"

Pulling the trigger, a bright green beam shot from the mouth of the gun, instantly frying the centre most circle of the board. His audience erupted into a thundering applause.

Bowing playfully, he set down the gun and moved to the box. Rummaging inside, he retrieved something and moved back to his original spot.

"Now this, this is a _dangerous_ little thing," he held up what was obviously a stick of lipstick. A couple of snickers rose from several students. "Ladies, do pay extra close attention to what brand of lipstick you buy when you go shopping. Guys too, if you're getting a present for the ladies. You wouldn't want to stumble across this baby." Pointing the cosmetic towards the target on the far right, he gave the tubular container a little twist. A green beam shot out, completely eradicating the bullseye. The snickers extinguished with immediate effect.

"Very useful in situations where you want to appear harmless to an unsuspecting ghost. Just don't point it at your face." Smiling innocently at the synchronized expressions of shock, Emery replaced the lipstick and moved down the line of equipment.

"Sam is _so_ lucky she does not need to be here," the raven-haired teen grumbled, as the man jumped into an explanation of yet another gadget. "I would give anything to be in her place right now."

"Relax Danny," the tan teen was still fiddling with his PDA. "The tour's pretty interesting this time. At least, it's better than the 'History of Ghosts' session we had on day one."

"I wasn't talking about that…"

"And over here is the Thermos," the guide lifted up a silver-blue object that looked like a normal soup canister. "The ghost capturing equipment that revolutionized the entire ghost hunting society with its creation."

"Personally, even though I will never waste my good looks hunting ghosts, I think these gadgets are pretty ingenious. I wonder who invented them?"

Danny blanched. "No Tuck!"

"An excellent question, young man!" Emery exclaimed. Tucker flushed scarlet, embarrassed at being overheard. Danny, on the other hand, was aghast.

"The inventors of the very first ghost capturing device were none other than Egbert and Bertha Fenton. However, its design made it bulky and cumbersome. Its cost of manufacturing hefty, it needed time to be set up, and was only really suitable when countering armies of ghosts in times of sieges. It was their grandson and daughter-in-law, Jack and Madeline Fenton respectively, who crafted the successor to the Ghost Catcher, the Fenton Thermos, which I now hold in my hand.

Although it sacrificed capacity and power, its portability made up for it, allowing ghost hunters to capture ghosts anywhere, any time! This is the main tool of use by professional ghost hunters all over the world today! However, their inventions did not stop there. Majority of the gadgets used in ghost hunting were designed and perfected by generations of Fentons that came and went, including the ecto-blaster and the ecto-bazooka all of you were so amazed about. You could say that the Fentons were the ancestors of today's ghost hunting society!"

At once, a few dozen pairs of eyes landed on their classmate whose surname just so happened to be Fenton. Even Tucker was staring. Danny groaned inwardly.

This was going to be a very long day.

~A~

"You and Sam are all the same, you know that?" Tucker huffed angrily. It was break time, and the two childhood friends were currently huddled in the shadows of an empty dumpster, taking fugitive peeks over the object to ensure the continued privacy of the latest class celebrity.

"How so?" came the nonchalant reply.

"Well-"

He paused when Danny hushed him with a wave of his hand, ducking back into the bin just as someone stopped outside the alleyway.

"Hey Paulina!" The gruff, unmistakable voice of Dash greeted. "Have you seen Fenton?"

"I was about to ask you the same question!" Paulina replied. "I wanted to invite him to lunch, but I can't find him anywhere!"

"Let's keep looking! He couldn't have just disappeared into thin air!"

They held their breath until silence met their ears, and Danny sighed in relief. Azure eyes turned to his computer geek of a friend, curious.

"You were saying?"

"Well, let's see: you and Sam are loaded, check. You and Sam have great, great grandparents who are _great_ inventors, check. You and Sam keep this a secret-"

"For your information, I didn't hide it, much. You just didn't make the connection."

Tucker glared. "Either way, you and Sam both keep this a secret from me! And I thought we were the bestest buddies ever!"

At that moment, a low but distinctly female voice erupted from the teen's PDA. "Hey Tucker, Danny. You called?"

Turning their attention to the screen, which was now filled up completely by the girl's face, Tucker nodded, "Yeah. Did you know that Danny's-"

"Filthy stinking rich? Yep." Sam grinned. Then to Danny, "So you got found out?"

Danny gave her a questioning look. The goth nodded in understanding.

"Wait, hold everything," Tucker's brows furrowed and he pointed accusingly at Sam. "You knew?"

"Yep. The Fentons did collaborate with the Mansons to design a couple of pretty useful products, so it's natural that we know about each other," she explained, fingering the green, earring-like gadgets. "Like these Fenton Phones. They're the perfect gothic accessory, they function as wireless headsets, and they filter out most noises too, including ghostly noise. It's pretty handy."

Danny took over, plucking the device out of Tucker's hands. The tan teen did not protest. He was too shocked by the news.

"Actually, the guide mentioned that part too, so now everyone in class knows that Tucker is friends with millionaires. Or heirs to, anyway."

Sam's expression seemed to flicker between amusement and something else.

"Well, I'm stuck at this private institute for another year or so until my parents' business is done, so I'm safe, at least I think I am. I still have things to worry about." There was a dulled but shrill cry of 'Sammykins!' somewhere in the background, and the girl cringed. "Get what I mean?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Shouldn't you be in school now?"

"I am. It's my mum that's displaced."

Danny smiled and shook his head pityingly. Sam was one of his closest and only friends, and the three of them had been together since like forever. However, it was only last year that Sam revealed that her father had been posted to a company in another city for several years, and she was going to have to follow them and enroll in a school there. Naturally, none of them were pleased with the news. Sam even tried to get her parents to allow her to stay. Unfortunately, he had been very adamant in his decision.

"So how's it going on your side?" the goth inquired. "Aside from your new social status, I mean?"

"It's been pretty terrible, this school trip. We had talks on history of ghosts, ghost hunters, ghost classifications, anti-ghost tech and technology running on ectoplasm and even a visit to the ghost zoo." Danny shivered. "The content is okay, but the 'terrible' comment stems from my side of the picture. You understand, right?"

"…you had the nightmare again, didn't you?" she asked quietly. "I thought you said that you've gotten over it."

"Apparently not. But seriously, they didn't haunt me recently until this trip started. It must be all these talks about ghosts… they're stirring up really painful memories."

"Yeah. Not to mention, you scream bloody murder practically every night!" Tucker, finally out of his daze, had joined in on the conversation. He took back his PDA. "Did you know I have to wake him up for three days straight?"

"I can't help it! Every time I close my eyes, that scene keeps playing over and over again in my head! It's driving me insane!"

"Well, why did you even go in the first place?"

"That's the exact same thing I asked Jazz last night. Or this morning. It's forty percent of our grades. I can't not go for such a trivial reason!"

"But the point is, it's _not_ a trivial reason! If you explain to Mr. Lancer, I'm sure he'd understand."

"That's where you're wrong. See, me and Jazz… we told Mr. Lancer about our situation, and he's the one who said it was a trivial reason."

"Well, it's only one more day until tomorrow noon," Tucker reminded. "And then after the report we have to do, this will all be over."

Danny sighed dejectedly. "Yeah. I hope so."

"Come on, Danny! What's the most that could happen in twenty-four hours?"

"Another replay of that nightmare, at least."

"Don't worry. I'll wake you up if that ever happens," the tanned teen peeked over their hiding spot. "And I think the coast is clear."

"Also, if you need someone to talk to when you're up all night, you can call me. I don't mind keeping you company. I can even share with you some pretty awesome stories I overheard."

The raven-haired boy smiled weakly at his friends as he clambered out of the dumpster. "Thanks, but no thanks. It's only one more day, and like what Tucker said, what's the most that could happen?"

For the briefest second, green receded from the sky, revealing a dark, almost blood-red backdrop. And then everything returned to normal, and nobody had noticed the difference.

~A~

Pain.

Foreign objects upon his body pulled at his core, ripping it apart into so many pieces.

So much pain.

He knew he had strength. He wanted to break free, to tear apart that which siphoned his life force, that which caused him so much pain. But he couldn't do it. He didn't have the strength to. He didn't have the will to. Within that pain was a familiar scent; nostalgic, of dark bread and rye grains, of peas and beans and onion stew. There was a warm feeling, nice and snuggly. But there was also a cold chill, a strange taste lingering in his mouth, bitter, sweet and sour.

When he struggled, the warm feeling would fade. The cold would come, the detestable cold. There was pain, like being struck by lightning. Then there would be another familiar smell; the sharp stench of metal that accompanied red. A disgusting smell, a hateful smell; of fire and hay and metal. The light screamed in howls and bellows, of rage and anger. And then there was darkness, shadowy tendrils pulling him into its dark, artic depths, away from the smells, away from the noise.

He did not like the cold, so he was satisfied to remain, drowned in the hearth of the fire, ignoring the pain as the warmth embraced him, reminding him of times past, of worlds gone by.

But this time… this time things were different.

All of a sudden, the cold had become so very alluring. Darkness kissed his soul, teasing him with flighty touches, their obsessive nature lost to playfulness. Something within told him to break free. To reach into the blackness, beyond it and take ahold whatever lay in the shadows.

That something was instinct, and he always heeded instinct.

So he wrenched himself from the warmth and plunged into the infinite sea of black. As expected, the chill bit at his soul, dark vines entwining his arm and pulling him deeper. But he did not falter, for darkness's touch numbed what would have been a searing pain, drawing him down and into the abysmal depths of the unknown. He was blinded, and for what felt like eternity, he continued to dive, guided by his soul, guided by the darkness.

And then there was a flicker of light in the murky waters, a glow that called for him. Desperation dug its claws into his soul. He strained every muscle, forced himself closer to the light. His claws were but a mere inch from…

He howled in rage as the searing pain returned. Shocked and surprised, he was pushed back by the ferocious current of the waters, away from the light, away from the warmth.

No! He was so close! He couldn't – wouldn't give up here!

He strained against the rebellious waters, against the artic frost, pushing, stretching. His claws scraped the edges of the light, the flame-like substance weaving out of his grasp. With a frustrated roar, his claws finally clasped that orb of light. White beams shined forth ever so brightly, chasing away the darkness. It screeched in outrage and distress, and he could feel the tendrils loosen in their grip.

The last of them slipped away, and his vision was bathed in white.


End file.
